


With a Shot of Blueberry

by Padraigen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Coffee Shops, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen
Summary: Steve has a weird taste in coffee. This is the only reason Tony doesn't forget about him.Really.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 210





	With a Shot of Blueberry

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an instagram post I saw, but now can't seem to find. If you know which one I'm talking about, let me know in the comments.
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony’s bogged down with orders, sweating, and swearing for the tenth time that day that he’d quit this shit job when Clint pleads with him to take over as cashier so he can take a call in the back. At his wit’s end, Tony seriously contemplates strangling him, but figures that would just land him with more work to do.

He’s starting to think Aunt Pegs recruited him just for shits and giggles, and not because she could genuinely use the help. He wouldn’t have even agreed to it if his mother hadn’t insisted, and now he’s beginning to wonder if being paraded around all those stupid parties and galas and what-the-fuck-ever wouldn’t have been the lesser burden.

So he’s not in a great mood when he—after discreetly glaring daggers at Clint while the guy saunters off with that damned innocuous grin—rattles off his usual greeting for the next customer in line and asks for his order.

He’s hardly even paying attention, working on autopilot while equations sketch themselves on the scrap paper in his brain, but then, abruptly, what he’s just tapped into the computer catches his notice, and he just. Can’t.

_Small black coffee. Shot of blueberry._

Tony glances up and sees a _nobody_ , someone completely unremarkable, hair embarrassingly lifeless—honestly, how did this dude even allow himself to leave his house this morning with hair like that—small, pale, and so spectacularly scrawny Tony is frankly shocked the light breeze in the air today hadn’t sent him tumbling down the road all the way to that McDonald’s Tony will never admit to ever having stepped foot in.

The audacity of this guy, to order something so simple in its ridiculousness, so nonsensical and possibly even more offensive than those sickeningly sugary drinks teenage girls like to take selfies with. What gives him the _right_.

Tony is silent in his judgement, however, too busy and in too sour a mood to impart his unquestionably enlightened wisdom. He rings the order up, reluctantly adds a shot of blueberry to the cup he’s just filled, and all-too-happily sends the guy on his way.

He can’t bring himself to acknowledge the muttered, “Thank you,” and feels a bit guilty about it for the one hundred eight seconds it takes for Clint to come back.

After that, he promptly forgets to care.

*

Except, he doesn’t.

Forget, that is.

A month later, Tony can’t believe he still works here. It’s a slow morning, he’s bored to tears, and he sees _him_. The guy.

Tony watches him through the window, watches him approaching the door of the cafe and then stopping to bend down and—Tony tilts his head to get a better look, and yes, the guy is petting a fucking dog.

Tony’s not the type to remember people’s orders. Unless it’s a regular’s that he whips up _every. Single. Morning_ , then he generally can’t be bothered.

But how can he forget—small black coffee, shot of blueberry. _Ugh._

The drink is in his hands before the guy even has the door completely open, and Tony none-too-gently pushes Clint aside so he can ring him up. Clint shrugs, and if he says anything, Tony doesn’t hear him and, more importantly, doesn’t care.

“Hi,” the guy greets before Tony can say anything. “Can I have a small black coffee with a shot of blueberry, please?” He speaks louder than he did the first time he’d come in, and Tony’s surprised by how deep his voice actually is. He notes that the guy’s hair doesn't look quite as lifeless as it had the first time he saw it, and maybe—although Tony might just be imagining it—maybe the guy’s shoulders don’t look as slumped.

Tony places the order and tells him the price, and then there’s an awkward moment when their eyes meet while Tony slides the cup along the counter until it’s right in front of him. The guy pauses in slipping his card back in his wallet, glancing down and then back up again. His eyes are wide and—Tony can’t pinpoint why he this catches his attention, but—they’re also incredibly _blue._

“Is that—?”

Tony hums an affirmative before the guy can finish his question and watches, a pleasant warmth in his stomach, as the guy’s stare becomes increasingly more incredulous. He enjoys watching him hesitantly pick up the paper cup, lifting it before the movement jerks to a stop, like he wants to test it, wants to make sure, but thinks it would be rude or something, thinks it might imply he doesn’t trust Tony.

Tony smirks, can’t help himself, really, and the guy doesn’t lose his incredulous look as he says, “Uh, thank you. Tony.”

The use of his name shocks Tony for a split second, renders him speechless for the whole three seconds it takes for the guy to be out the door again. It’s only then that it occurs to him that he has a name tag. That he had actually bothered to wear it today.

 _Fuck_ , Tony thinks, for no particular reason.

After that, Tony doesn’t forget about him.

*

The guy’s back again the next morning, and Tony’s so happy to see him that he’s actually a bit disgusted with himself.

He has his order ready by the time the guy reaches the register. Tony knows the guy has noticed by the way he smiles sweetly at him. There’s a voice of warning inside Tony’s head—one screaming _uh oh_ —but he’s had plenty of practice in ignoring it, so Tony simply grins back and hands the guy the cup.

The morning after that, Tony’s anticipating the guy’s arrival. He isn’t disappointed.

“Bit unusual,” Tony mutters while he’s passing the cup to the guy. It’s a much milder judgement than he could’ve passed, certainly.

“What’s that?”

“Your order,” Tony clarifies, a little louder. “It’s a bit unusual.”

Tony likes the way the guy’s cheeks turn pink, so obvious in contrast to his pale skin. “Oh, yeah. It’s—”

“A man needn’t defend his preference for blueberries,” Tony cuts him off, grinning, like he himself doesn’t despise them with an admirable passion.

The guy chuckles a bit, but then he awkwardly grimaces and says, “I don’t, really… I actually hate them.”

Tony’s grin drops in confusion, and the guy justifies, “My ma, uh… she liked them. They were her favorite.” He shrugs, like that’s the only way he can explain it, and Tony thinks he understands.

“Oh,” is the only thing Tony can think to say as his stomach drops, and he wishes he hadn’t said anything at all.

The guy smiles, and it looks a bit painful, and then he turns around and leaves just as he always does.

Tony facepalms—like, physically facepalms—when he’s sure the guy won’t be able to see it, and woefully thinks this was the last time he’d ever see him.

Clint pats him on the back, uncharacteristically sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything.

*

To Tony’s surprise—and no small amount of relief—the guy comes back a couple days later. Tony whips up his usual, and this time boldly adds a little something extra.

“Here you go.” He hands off the cup before he says, “I added a bit of vanilla. I’m not sure that makes it any less offensive, but maybe it’ll taste a little better?” Tony’s voice goes up at the end in a question, like he’s unsure of himself. Which is blatantly ridiculous, so he clears his throat and adds, “No extra charge, of course.”

The guy is smiling, which Tony determines to be a good sign, and he takes a small sip of the coffee. When he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, Tony starts to panic.

“If you don’t like it, I can get you your usual. Honestly, it’s no big deal.”

“No, no. I like it. Thank you, Tony.” And his smile gets even wider.

Tony takes it as a win.

*

He decides to take a risk the next time the guy shows up—one, because he really likes the guy, and two, because he’s nervous that he’s on borrowed time with him, and Tony needs a bit more security than that.

So when the guy reaches the register, and greets him sweetly as he always does—although now (correctly) assuming Tony already knows his order—Tony asks for his name.

The guy looks surprised, like he’s only just realized he has never told Tony, and then says, “I’m Steve.”

 _Steve_ , Tony thinks, rolling the name around in his head. _Yes. That sounds about right._

He grabs a sharpie lying next to the register and then the cup—small black, shot of blueberry, dash of vanilla—and spells out _STEVE_. Below it, he scribbles ten digits and proceeds to hand Steve the cup.

He watches with a familiar pleasant warmth in his belly as Steve takes the cup and notices Tony’s number written on the side, his cheeks turning an adorable pink.

“Thank you, Tony.”

Tony waves as Steve turns to leave, and knows with certainty this isn’t the last time he’d be seeing him.

*

Five years later, Tony no longer works at the coffee shop. He does, however, still drink a whole lot of coffee. And he sees Steve everyday—in fact, he wakes up to him.

 _And_ he may even be starting to tolerate the taste of blueberries.

But really, that’s another story.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, and have a moment, I would really appreciate knowing your thoughts in the comments! Thank you very much :)
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://padraigendragon.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
